


What Makes A Home?

by breakdowngoddess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Confusion, Gay, Harry is Confused, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Slow Burn, So is draco, Yep.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 20:42:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10579116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakdowngoddess/pseuds/breakdowngoddess
Summary: Harry is only just recovering from the war when he is swept back to Hogwarts. Feeling alone and like a bothersome third wheel, Harry slowly starts to realise exactly who he really is.





	

The flush of the morning painted a peaceful patchwork of light over the dresser, casting long shadows of the thin wire spectacles and worn book it was placed on the faded oak. The dawn had not yet touched the boy sleeping on the spare cot next to the bed. His hair was in a complete state of disarray, dark locks long compared to the length it was usually kept, scattered about the pillow in an unpredictable pattern. His quizzical and humorous green eyes shut and unwrinkled, the ebony lashes flickering as if mid-dream, tranquil within their fluttering movement. Harry Potter’s complication was tanner than usual, after days of sunbathing and playing quidditch in the clearing by the burrow, he was sporting a soft tinge of brown that was not there within the winter months.   
On the bed opposite lay a freckly young man whose ginger hair was short compared to his bespectacled friend. His own cheeks were showing the time spent in the sun, freckles multiplying and covering his cheeks as he and his best friends relaxed after the war. Well deserved rest, they began the assimilation into natural life, slowly letting go of the nightmares and strategic planning and moving towards calm and relaxing summertime. Ron slept shirtless, a habit he had picked up this very summer, due to the new warm during the night. Harry laughed at Ron when Hermione had arrived in the middle of the night, returning from giving back her parent’s memories and spending half of the summer with them and then moving to the Burrow for the rest. She accomplished waking them all up by flooding into the living room from the fireplace with a loud clatter of precariously stacked items. Everyone had rushed downstairs, wands at the ready, to find Hermione blushing and repairing a broken sneakoscope. She got a huge hug from everyone except Ron, whose ears turned beat red at being shirtless in front of her. Harry had the best laugh in a while as Ms. Weasley reprimanded her son for exposing herself and Hermione blushed and in the most un-Hermione like way, giggled.  
The one thing the summer was good at was settling things. After Hermione’s unexpected arrival, Harry began to feel like a third wheel. Admittedly a loved and tolerated third wheel, but whenever he got the chance, he would leave the two to talk and be more than friends.   
Ginny was beautiful and perfect. She and Harry would take walks and play quidditch, but the moment of recognition came shortly after they settled into life at the burrow. Ginny came over to Harry, who was sitting slightly awkwardly by Ron and Hermione who were talking with their hands intertwined. She saved him and confidently asked for a walk.  
They talked of frivolous things, walking quickly until they reached the Weasley’s favorite picnic spot. Ginny stopped and asked to sit. Harry sat down and watched her silken hair flow in the slight breeze.  
“Harry, remember when you broke up with me for a stupid noble reason back when everything first went bad?” Her nose wrinkled and Harry glanced up and nodded.  
“I have been thinking and, well, I think we need to think about what we are doing. That is why I’ve brought you up here. I do my best thinking up here.” She leaned against the tree behind her as Harry contemplated her words.  
“You don’t want to be with me?” Harry asked, trying not to feel or sound pathetic.  
“Not exactly. You have been wonderful, my crush and my first love. I know that you love me, but I also know how the war affected you. I know you will never be that boy I first fell in love with. I think you need to look at what makes you happy, as do I. And I think that I need some time to experiment with what I want out of life.” She looked questioningly up at Harry and added. “My bet is that you need to too.”  
The walk back was relatively silent. Harry was contemplating her words and what she wanted from him. After the war and the time he spent with Dumbledore when he was -not-quite-dead changed his view of the entire concept of death and in turn, life. He no longer clung to his mortality, but now sat with it, like it was a burden for him to bare. When they reached where Hermione and Ron were sitting, Ginny left him with a sad smile and a peck on the cheek.  
“What was that about?” Asked Ron, his voice containing a lot of sensitivity compared to his usual tones.  
“I don’t think she wants to be with me.” Harry stared, stunned at his own words. Could that really be it? It was her who begged him not to leave her for some heroic sacrifice, who had given him that passionate kiss before Bill and Fleur's wedding. It didn’t match.   
“Ohh, Harry.” Hermione reached over Ron’s lap and squeezed his hand. Her warm eyes comforted him as she looked for pain in his face.   
“It’s okay. I guess. I think she--I think she did it for the best.” Harry squeezed back and her grip relaxed a little. Ron stared at Harry and said, “You want me to talk to her for you, mate?”   
“No, It’ll be fine. Were fine. I’m fine. I think I’m going to go read.”   
He could hear the beginnings of a whispered conversation behind him and felt two pairs of eyes on his back before he disappeared into the burrow. 

In the days that followed, Harry secluded himself. It wasn’t because of everyone’s worried looks or words of comfort, or even Ron and Hermione’s affections. It was because that was where he did his best thinking. Not that his now constant state as the Weasley's very own third wheel was helping him indulge in human interaction. He would sit in Ron’s bedroom, thinking. Thinking about everything from quidditch to his failed relationship with all the girls he had ever pursued.  
This is the time, at the end of summer, in which the morning of sweet light and oken wood occurred. Harry slept silently in his borrowed cot, hair overgrown and eyes fluttering, while Ron, snoring not at all endearingly, slept in the next bed. That is the exact moment when Molly Weasley’s voice echoed for the kitchen.   
“Up! Up! Everyone up, we’ve got news!”   
Notably, Ron shot up out of bed, mumbling. Harry took longer to react, grabbing his glasses and making a valiant effort to untangle his legs from the blanket. As Harry stumbled around pulling on his socks, he heard Ron struggling with his shirt, the disgruntled house waking up in the background.   
Quickly a rush of red hair and bleary eyes made its way to the kitchen, followed by Harry and Hermione, who stood out from the diminished crowd of Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley clutched in her hand several letters, one of which open and slightly crushed. She nervously glanced around at everyone than started to read the letter aloud.  
“Dear Previous and Current Hogwarts Students,  
Due to the catastrophe of last year, we are running many of our courses again, to ensure that we have educated you fully. We are offering recovery classes over the course of the year, along with creating an 8th year program for our students who have missed out on a year or more of schooling due to the war. We recommend that all of last year’s 7th years attend this year, but we do recognise that you have the right to not attend another year.” Mrs. Weasley paused and looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. She then stated, “I completely expect you to attend this year, Ronald, and although I can not do the same for you two, I hope that you choose to aswell.” She went back to reading the letter.  
“ The following instructions are for the so dubbed ‘8th years’ to attend this year:  
Firstly, respond with your intentions to come back for your 8th year.  
Secondly, on the first of September, we expect you to be on the Hogwarts express,  
Thirdly, you will provide to the Great Hall and stay after for instructions regarding your final year of magical education.” Mrs. Weasley paused again “And that's all, including a packing list…”  
Harry had no idea what to think. He loved Hogwarts. It was his home. But then again, there was everything there that reminded him of Lupin and Tonks and Fred… Was it worth the pain of being reminded of everyone that he hadn’t saved?   
Ron and Hermione quickly wrote up their acceptance letters, and Harry followed suit. He was unsure about this. He could probably get a job at the ministry or anywhere else if he asked. He didn’t technically need to finish his schooling. But then again, here he was, tying his letter to the School’s eagle owl, sealing his fate. Here he was, packing, several days later, making sure he had enough robes. And here he was buying his supplies. Doing the final check of his trunk. Walking calmly between the barrier of Platform 9 ¾ , unpacking his trunk on the train. Here he was, sitting by Ron and Hermione, on the Hogwarts express.   
That's when it hit him.  
He was going back to Hogwarts.   
He was going home.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this, as it is my first attempt at a Harry Potter Fanfiction. I loved writing it.   
> Hopefully new chapters will come soon!


End file.
